Like Spinning Plates
by hariboo-smirks
Summary: Crossover: Claire Heroes and John Connor. No spoilers. Secrets, secrets like theirs, aren't the type to record and keep for posterity, but she smiles so wide and real that he can't help himself.


**Crossover:** Claire (Heroes) and John Connor. No spoilers.  
**A/N:** Co-written by me and **kalesbohan**. Because we're not crazy enough on our own.

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**Like Spinning Plates**

X

"You can't tell her. She'll move us-"

It's the first time he's asked someone to lie about it. He wants to say it's the first time he's kept it from his mother.

X

He's had twenty names or more and every time, he likes to try something new. Because his mother cuts their life to the quick- he can barely even keep the same email account, but he does stubbornly keep his distinctly anonymous livejournal - he decided once upon an alias that he'd be resourceful. Twenty or more names, twenty or more hobbies- some of them great, some of them left behind in the ashes with his old papers.

But now he's left Claire in the hallway, and she was a hobby he wasn't expecting, but neither is the one tugging on his sleeve insistently and pulling him into a closet.

When she shares her secret with him the first thing he wants to tell is 'well, I can top it' but he doesn't because the second thing he wants to tell her is that telling him is a rookie mistake. Secrets, secrets like theirs, aren't the type to record and keep for posterity, but she smiles so wide and real that he can't help himself.

Sometimes he thinks she knows that he's keeping something from her too. He's had years of practice but she doesn't quite get why he's not as freaked as he should be and why he didn't run for the hills as soon as he could. Maybe it has to do with trust. She trusts him. Ideally, he should trust her. His mother's words float in his ears, "trust no one. Always keep moving." So he doesn't tell her, but he lets her see more than he's let anyone. In years.

People that know about him die. He's only slightly relieved that Claire can't. Slightly. She's got enough trouble without having to be hunted like he is.

Still, that's his third impulse. To _involve _her, in exactly the tone that his mother dismisses everyone who isn't them as _not involved. _It's partly because of that second thought- to tell her, to teach her. He wants to be able to say, _you're different and so am I. This is how to stop the bastards getting you down. _He wants to teach her about running, aliases, and hiding where no one can find you. John can't imagine Claire holding a gun, never mind shooting anyone, but just because she can't die doesn't mean she'll never have to kill.

He wants to set up her email account so she can move it with her, just changing the name, wants to teach her how to hide your tracks completely but fit more than your mother or father suspects into 'one bag.' Mostly through his own ingenious use of online servers, but hey. Because if she has to move, if she has to run, he can teach her the little things that'll keep her sane.

There's another reason he wants her completely and utterly on his side, but it chills him to think of it, so he tries not to and tells himself he keeps his secrets _for her sake. _On a lot of levels, that's fine. On a lot of levels, his ID looks _fine, _too.

He wants Claire on his side because she can walk out of burning buildings and get better. That burning building could be Skynet someday, but that would mean taking command, turning around his mother from her _run and keep running _policy, and risking Claire's freedom. The first is inevitable, the second is still a half-baked germ of an idea he doesn't want to expose and the last would break him - mainly because she _fights _just as hard as he does, and she doesn't know why or what against.

X

The day the man appears at his window, he stands up from the desk and pulls off his earphones to settle them around his neck. His hand slips to the gun taped to the underside of desk as he turns.

The man doesn't say anything.

Neither does John. On that list of Things To Tell Claire, that's on it. _They speak first._

He doesn't know if this man's here for him or for Claire. If it's the first, he has a Beretta and he won't blink when he fires it. If it's the second one, he really has _no _fucking idea what the man's capable of doing.

But if someone doesn't speak, it'll be the world's most cryptic stareout. And his fringe is beginning to get in his eyes.

The man lunges and John lets his arm pass through his crooked elbow then snaps shut the trap as he turns, throwing him to the floor with one knee in the small of his back and one palm open with fingers around the back of his neck.

"Do you have a name?"

Someday he'll say things like that all calm, business-like and cool like his mother. Today is not that day.

"No."

_Oh. _He blinks, looking up at the ceiling with a frown as his captive struggles.

"Why are you here?"

He shakes him roughly when he doesn't answer.

"The girl. You know about the girl."

John is relieved and stamps on the impulse. First of all, he shouldn't be relieved that someone is after Claire. Secondly, he's not supposed to get attached to places or people and he's dangerously close to forgetting. Thirdly, if he were as ruthless as he's going to have to be, that sentence would have had the Beretta at this man's temple.

"You're here to kill me?"

"To make you forget."

It's a surprise because as good at adjusting as John is, the way that these people can't die and can alter minds is still fucking creepy.

And still, it's an out.

"I'm going to let you go. I have a gun. Is one of your super-powers dodging bullets?"

"No."

They spring apart like magnets of opposite polarity forced together just as John smacks himself in the head for doing that thing where he _believes _what someone says.

"You don't have to."

"What?"

John hates himself for what he's about to do, but knows this is it. He can still watch, and if he has to, he'll let her know about this betrayal and hope it doesn't wound like the others.

"I'll pretend. Believe me." He summons the image of that _bastard _of a football player. Claire gave limited details. Claire's never been amongst the scum of the earth, learning their tricks. "I want an out, man. I _need _an out. She's a fucking freak."

The man blinks, fist curling and John sees it. This one cares. This one was here to _help_. Either that or he doesn't appreciate being called a freak by proxy. But this isn't a game he can play.

He nods curtly and leaves the way he came in, the window. Unlike when John does it, the dark-skinned man looks graceful and fully formed like a sword of well-made folded steel. John just looks like an idiot.

John waits exactly two hours, sitting rigidly at the laptop, until he picks up the pencil pot and throws it across the room with a satisfyingly violent crash. Hands in his hair, he kicks once, sharply under the desk. He picks up his phone, is _this _close to calling Claire, but sits it back down with hands that shake.

The Haitian, standing outside and watching for three hours, inclines his head and leaves.

X

When she comes up to him again, asks him to be her friend, to help, the lie falls easily from his lip. It's not even that hard, to tell the truth. Lying about himself, his memories, it's training, it's _second nature_, and when her eyes go bright, he wants to reach out, but he doesn't.

Sometimes you need to let people go.

It will be easier that way. No attachments. It's a mantra. Only it's a lie.

Watching as she runs away from him, he knows he did the right thing. For him. Maybe for her. But he can't help but regret it.

He slips his ear phones on and walks away.

X

He's walking back into his house, when he hears the voice. Turning he drops down to the the flowerpot, where unlike most people they don't keep the extra key (they have no need for it, he and his mom are excellent lock picks) but where they keep a small six-round revolver and goes to grab it pretending as he is indeed trying to grab the key.

"You will not need that," comes in a smooth voice and he drops his guard just a fraction.

"Come back for seconds? We have turkey today." He does not loosen his on the .38.

"She has confided in you once again."

He sighs, "I didn't tell her I remembered. I pretended until she came to me again."

"Yes, you did."

"She needs a friend." He bites his lip, "I won't..."

"No, you will not." The Haitian says and just as quickly leaves as he came. After he's sure the man is gone, he drops to the porch steps and sighs. Claire has her friend back, and still no one knows about him. Crap, his mom is going to kill him for forgetting the groceries.

X

Pretending with Claire gets easier and harder at the same time. He still doesn't tell her anything about the future, but he's lying less about himself. Lying without really lying, she's getting good at that too. He can't but feel a little bit proud.

The manatee tickets, though, he thinks could have been better.

X

_We're leaving_, his mom says. It takes him 20 mins after he's sure his mom is busy to leave the house and head to Claire's. He sees the fire trucks there and she's hugging her family next to her burning house. He breathes and heads back. He won't have to tell her anything, it looks like she's leaving too.

One less lie they'll share.

X

He's walking down the street, rolling his eyes at some random thing Cameron says when he sees a flash of gold. He knows it can't be her. There's no way. But he still stops and turns around, following the golden hair of head. His feet begin moving without his consent and he turns into a small park, Cameron is following him step by step, asking why his heart rate has speed up. He doesn't answer. He just keeps walking.

It couldn't have been her, his brain tells him. It couldn't because really, what are the fucking odds. But there, by the ice cream stand at the edge of the green, right next to the liquor shop hiding Nicaraguan gun runners that he just left, it's Claire. Claire and this guy.

He doesn't focus on the guy, because it's _fucking Claire_.

He's moving forward again, but this time Cameron's hand is stopping him. Her hand is tight around his upper arm and he whips to face her. "Let me go."

"No." She pulls him back and he stumbles. Sometimes he _really_ hates she's not programmed to follow his orders.

"Cameron..."

"It is not a prudent move the one you're thinking of making."

He huffs, "And what is that?" He stops struggling and Cameron's grips lessens.

"You were planning to head over and commence a conversation with the couple by the ice cream stand. It is not a prudent move." Cameron's calculating eyes trace over Claire and the guy and he wonders if she know them. If _he_ knows them. In the future.

"Why?" His eyes drift back to Claire, she's laughing and he really wants to head over and ask _her_ why.

"Claire Bennet is not a member of your inner circle until much later." And at least that answers if he knows her in the future. The relief comes as an after thought; he still knows her in the future, even if he can't know her now. "She will be important. The cheerleader." She pulls on his arm again and he lets himself get pulled.

"How?" He has to ask because it's either asking Cameron or heading over to Claire. And there would be too many questions if he does the latter. Something he would risk she was alone.

"She helps save the world. She helps save you." He lets his eyes go back to Claire, who looks so happy with her ice cream and boyfriend, and sighs. He turns away, back to the car, maybe it's a good thing. For now.

X

It's a fucking dumb ass move that puts him in her path again. It's a weekend; Cameron is studying the couple with the baby on the bench, and he did not bring them here again on the off chance, but he did. So he shouldn't be surprised. But when he hears her voice calling him by the name she knows him by he can't help but think:

_It was a fucking dumb ass move_.

Cameron immediately straightens as he does and when he turns to where Claire's voice came from he swallows. Hard.

She's there, her hair pulled tight in pony tail, her feet covered in pink low-top Converses and she's so fucking bright. He realises he's missed it.

"What are you doing here?" She asks, straight to the point, her eyes trailing over him, probably cataloguing the changes in his appearance, and eyes drifting to Cameron. He knows next to him Cameron is doing the same. She might know Claire Bennet in future but that doesn't mean she'll trust her now. She definitely doesn't trust the tall, dark haired boy by her side.

Rubbing a hand to the back of his neck, he gives her a small smile, one she knows as his shy one, "Would you believe it's a long story?" He says and crap, it's not a good sign he didn't even think to lie to her.

"John." Cameron intones, and it obvious that she did.

"John?" Claire questions confused, but her eyes are swirling with thoughts, and he can see she's intrigued.

"Claire?" questions the boy next to her and her eyes snap to him, like she just remembered he's there.

She looks between them and blinks, "I'm sorry." She composes herself and waves towards him, "West, this is... John? An old friend..." She looks to him and he nods, grateful that she's following his and Cameron's lead. "John this is West. And um?" She looks to Cameron and he bites his lips, wondering how to explain this.

Cameron saves him the awkwardness, "I'm Cameron. John's step-sister."

Claire blinks, confused again, but says nothing. She only looks at him and he tries for a grin. He manages one, a real one, despite the fact his mom _is going to kill him_ and shrugs, "Told you it was a long story."

"Clearly." Claire still looks nervous, but she's smiling and so it can't be too bad.

END.

All comments appreciated, thanks for reading.


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